


Life With the Kents

by Cdelphiki



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Batman 71, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, But he is, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, He's trying not to be, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: After Clark learns about Bruce's recent violent outbursts with his three older boys, he makes the decision to confront Bruce and take Damian home with him.  Bruce may be his best friend, but he can't stand by and watch kids he cares about be mistreated. Damian has to adjust to life with the Kents, because he's not used to living in a normal, loving family, but it's not a bad adjustment.Fic is a series of one-shots following the confrontation, dealing with Damian's life living with the Kents. First two fics are pulled from my "Whims and Requests," the rest will be originally posted.





	1. Confrontation

Clark was livid. 

That was really the only way to explain how he felt, upon hearing Kon relay what Tim had told him about Bruce’s recent _behavior._

Bruce was supposed to be better than this. He was a superhero, for god’s sake. And superheroes did _not_ hit their children. 

But this had apparently been going on for _years,_ according to Kon and Tim. 

How had Clark been so blind? 

Which is how Clark found himself landing in the grass in front of Wayne Manor, not even an hour after Kon had left. He’d cleared his plan with Lois, of course, but he hadn’t really expected her to object. 

She loved Damian, too, after all. And it was only Damian still living at home. 

It only took a second for someone to open the door for him, his landing, of course, set off the proximity alarm inside. But they all knew what his landings looked like on their security system by now.

Damian, surprisingly, was the one who opened the door. He looked tired. Like the past few days had been more exhausting to him than anything else. 

As far as Clark was aware, Damian had witnessed the event that set all this off, after all. He probably was exhausted. Bruce was a hero in Damian’s eyes, even if he was constantly rebelling against him. For all the shortcomings he thought his father had, abusive was likely not one of them. 

Not until this week, that is.

And his eyes lacked that spark of mischief Clark usually saw. 

The poor kid was truly lost with all this, wasn’t he?

After exchanging pleasantries and being welcomed into the house, Clark said as gently as he could, “Damian, son, why don’t you go pack a bag.”

“Mr. Kent?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow at him, “Why?”

“You’ll be staying with us for a little while, okay?” Clark said, just as Bruce exited his office and strode down the hall, already showing signs that Clark had just ruffled some feathers.

“Excuse me?,” he said, toying with the button on his sleeve, a nervous tick, Clark knew. One Bruce thought he didn’t have. “I’m fine with sleep overs, Clark, but you can’t just show up here and take my kid without calling ahead first.”

“Damian,” Clark pushed, motioning to the stairs with his head, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the child. He did not need to hear what Clark had to say.

With a frown, Damian nodded. Whatever expression Clark had on his face must have been enough to tell Damian _he_ didn’t want to be present for this conversation, either. 

Bruce twitched at how easily Damian obeyed Clark, and snapped, “Damian Wayne, you-”

But Clark cut him off, grabbing onto his arm to prevent him from following Damian or escaping this conversation. 

Damian, bless his heart, continued on down the hall, as if nothing had just happened.

“Let go, Kent.” 

Clark didn’t, of course. Not until Damian had made it around the corner and up the stairs, where Clark was confident he could not hear them. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce demanded, looking pointedly at Clark’s hand.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing,” Clark snapped back, loosening his grip so Bruce could escape.

Bruce yanked his arm away dramatically and glowered. “You can’t just take my kid.”

“I see two options here,” Clark said cooly, “One, you allow this to happen. Or two, I publish a story detailing exactly how you’ve been treating the older boys, and then social services does the work for me. Pick one.”

That, Clark had known ahead of time, was going to strike a chord. And it did. He could practically hear a blood vessel burst as Bruce took a step forward and growled, “You _dare-”_

“We’re friends, Bruce,” Clark said calmly, refusing to allow Bruce to make any sort of threat, “but you can’t honestly expect me to stand by while you beat on your children.”

“I do not-”

“You hit Tim so hard he fell to the ground. You beat Jason to the point where he _couldn’t walk._ And I don’t even know how many times you’ve punched and beat on Dick.” 

“They’re all adults,” Bruce bit back, “and they often start-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. First, Tim is 16. In case you forgot, because he went and got himself emancipated. He’s a child, in both my eyes and the law’s. What kind of excuse is that, anyway? They’re your _sons._ You’re supposed to love them, not hit them.”

Bruce had no retort to that, and wasn’t that telling? All he did was clench his jaw and fist his hands. Likely itching to hit Clark, but knowing doing so wouldn’t gain him anything. 

Clark wasn’t even sure if he’d roll with the punch to prevent a broken hand, himself. 

“This is none of your concern,” Bruce eventually said, still glaring daggers at Clark. 

Clark could hear Damian zipping up his bag upstairs, so he knew they only had another minute or two before the boy reappeared. 

“Damian will be staying with me,” Clark said, smoothing out the expression on his face, “Until you do something about whatever’s going on with you. You need help, Bruce. I’m here for you, I am. But I can’t let these boys get hurt any more.”

Somehow, Bruce managed to clench his jaw tighter, just as Damian started down the stairs. 

“I’ll make sure he keeps up with school. And if you want, I’ll let him call and text you. But I want to see you making an actual effort here. You have some great kids, Bruce. You need to start treating them better.”

Damian turned the corner of the hall at that moment, and quietly made his way down it. He paused at his father’s side and looked up, but Bruce refused to look at him. Instead, he turned around and disappeared back into his office. 

“Come on, kiddo,” Clark said, holding his arm out so Damian would join him at his side, allowing Clark to wrap an arm around his shoulders, “It’ll be alright, you know?”

“Yeah,” Damian whispered, eyes downcast as he walked along side Clark as the exited the manor.

“He does love you,” Clark said, just before he picked Damian up for them to fly to Metropolis, “he’ll come around.”

Damian hoisted his bag into his lap, allowing Clark to carry him bridal style as they flew, then said, “He loves Tim, too. And Richard and Jason. And yet he still…”

“That’s what I’m saying he’ll come around about. We’ll make sure he gets the help he needs, okay?”

After a minute, Damian just nodded, then asked, “Is Jon home?”

“He sure is. He’ll be thrilled to know you’re staying with us. You two will have to share his room, but I didn’t think he’d mind.” 

“No,” Damian said, allowing a faint smile to grace his lips, “I don’t think he will.”


	2. Birthday Morning

For the first few weeks, Damian felt very temporary. He went back and forth between sleeping on the couch in the living room and sleeping on the floor of Jon’s room. But after Jon nearly tripped over him for at least the 32nd time one night, Lois decided it was time they rearranged Jon’s room. 

By the time the boys got home from school that next day, there was a second bed and chest of drawers in the bedroom, and a shopping trip scheduled so Damian could pick out his own bedding. 

Alfred sent over more of Damian’s things. His art supplies. His clothes. And Alfred the cat. Titus was too large for the Kents’ apartment, which was hard on Damian, but at least he had Alfred. And once he had his own bed, Alfred slept with him each night, curled up right next to his face. It was almost like being at home. 

It was a month into Damian’s stay when Clark finally said, “Enough with the ‘Mr. Kent’ stuff, son. You live here, just call me ‘Clark.’” 

Damian hadn’t realized that he... lived... there. He lived in Metropolis. With the Kents. 

And living with the Kents was weird. 

For one, they always ate dinner together. Every. Single. Night. After, they’d wash the dishes together and then either watch a movie or play a board game. All four of them. Every night.

It was just... weird. 

Kind of nice, though. He found himself laughing a lot, now. Board games were usually pretty funny. 

And each night before bed, Lois would tuck Jon into bed and kiss him goodnight. Then a little while later, Clark would stick his head into the room and tell Jon he loved him. The first night Clark said “Goodnight, boys. I love you,” Damian nearly choked. It was a week after that when Lois gave Damian a peck on the cheek right after she’d done them same for Clark and Jon, on her way to work. 

Father... Father was Father. He answered his phone sometimes, and had called Damian himself twice. Twice in two months. He was busy with cases, Damian knew. That is what Father did when he was upset. He buried himself in work and let time pass him by, without noticing.

Damian just kind of wanted to hear ‘Goodnight, I love you,” from Father, was all.

But it was fine. 

Lois and Clark said it every night. And Damian was starting to believe they actually meant it when they said it to him. And they weren’t just saying it because it felt awkward to kiss Jon goodnight but not say anything to him.

He felt... it made him feel warm. Every time it happened. Almost like he belonged, or was at least _wanted._

It was eleven weeks and three days into Damian’s stay that he realized he really liked living with the Kents. 

Because it was his 14th birthday. 

Honestly, Damian was used to people forgetting. And considering no one had mentioned anything leading up to it, he figured the Kents didn’t even know about it. 

Which was fine.

His family had forgotten last year, save Alfred. And he’d been fine with that. He was fine with getting no recognition this year, too. It’s not like his birthday had _ever_ been anything pleasant for him. 

But that morning, he was startled awake by three overly enthusiastic voices shouting “Happy Birthday” at him as he trudged into the kitchen, having intended on eating his breakfast half asleep as he did every morning. 

And he just stood there, staring at the pancakes sitting out on the table. _Strawberry._ His favorite. With candles stuck into the stack sitting at his spot. A ‘1′ and a ‘4,’ he was pretty sure. But he couldn’t exactly focus, because the flickering flames were starting to blur in his vision, their color taking over as his eyes _betrayed him._

_“_ Oh, honey,” Lois said, quickly rushing across the room and wrapping him up into a hug, “it’s okay. We knew today would be a hard day. If you don’t want to celebrate, we don’t have to. I’m sorry if the candles were too much.”

“No,” Damian got out, scrubbing at his face with the arm not trapped in Lois’s hug, “it’s not that. I- I like it.” 

Lois pulled him back and put her hands on either side of his face, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears still falling. “Then what is it, sweetheart?”

Damian scrubbed at his eyes again, trying his best to get himself back under control. 

Three months with the Kents and he had most certainly gone soft. 

“Is it because there is fruit in the pancakes?” Jon asked, clearly trying to cheer Damian up with a stupid joke. It kind of maybe worked, a little. “Because I _told_ Mom that birthday pancakes needed sprinkles, not fruit.”

“Jon,” Clark hissed. 

And Damian smiled, just a little, and whispered to Lois, “You remembered.”

“That you liked strawberries?” she asked. 

Damian just shook his head, and Lois seemed to understand what he meant, because she wrapped her arms around him again, and said, “Of course we did.” 

“Last year, only-” Damian started, just to get stuck trying to get the words out. He had to take a couple breaths before he could finally rush out, “Only Alfred rem-remem-”

“Shhhh,” Lois said, as Damian felt strong arms wrap both him and Lois up into a hug. 

“It’s okay, son,” Clark murmured, just holding on while Damian lost control of himself and slowly reigned his emotions back in.

After several minutes, he finally felt stable enough to free himself from Lois and Clark, and didn’t even feel the slightest bit embarrassed about crying his eyes out in front of his best friend. 

He’d seen Jon throw a couple fits, after all. 

“You’re family, Damian,” Jon said, relighting the candles on the pancakes they must have extinguished at some point, “We’ll never forget something as important as your birthday.” 

It was after Damian had ‘made a wish’ and blown out the candles when Jon added, “but you’ll probably wish we’d forgotten tonight, when the waiters sing to you at the restaurant,” that he finally, fully, smiled. 

He could get used to this normal family thing. 


	3. Birthday Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wants to visit Damian on his birthday, so he calls Clark.

Damian’s reaction to his birthday breakfast was troubling, to say the least.

Clark had known, it had been rather obvious from his few months living with them that his childhood had been less than stellar. Hell, he and Bruce had discussed at length Damian’s history with the League of Assassins, back when he was determining whether he wanted Jon associating with Damian.

God he’d been such an asshole back then, hadn’t he?

Damian was such a great kid.

But Damian had lived with Bruce for about three years. Two and some change, when subtracting the time they all thought Bruce was dead. And Bruce had seemed like he really cared, from all the playdates they’d arranged for the boys. All the talks they’d had about parenting.

Bruce _loved_ Damian.

Three birthdays with Bruce, though, and apparently none of them had been happy.

It was making it… hard. To be friends with Bruce. The more he learned about Damian.

Not that Bruce talked to him much anymore, anyway.

Clark was helping frost Damian’s cake, in anticipation of the party they’d planned for him— secretly, of course. The boy thought they were going to have cake and ice cream that afternoon, just the four of them, then go out for dinner later in the evening. But that wasn’t the case. Not at all.

Tim had been the first to call. Several weeks back, to ask whether they were planning anything. He’d requested he be invited to whatever Bruce wasn’t invited to, and said he’d bring Steph, Cass, and Kon with him. And maybe Jason, if he could swing it. That had led to the invite being extended to other bats, and soon enough Duke and Alfred were among the invitees.

They had really wanted Dick to come, but alas, miracle workers they were not.

But it was still promising to be a well attended party. One that would crowd Clark’s apartment, in the happiest way possible.

And it was while Clark was frosting the cake that he finally got a call from the one person who _should_ have been the first to call.

Clark frowned as he looked down at his screen, then waved to get Lois’s attention, gesturing to his phone. He didn’t want to take it within earshot of Damian, who was just across the open-concept apartment, playing a video game with Jon.

Lois nodded at him and took the spatula from his hand.

In a blink, he was on the roof, and he hit accept. “What’s up, Bruce?”

“ _Kent_ ,” he replied, his voice as monotone as ever, “ _Alfred_ suggested _I call ahead and see when a good time to visit Damian today would be._ ”

“Uh, well,” Clark said, grimacing as he turned the day’s schedule over in his head, “Actually, today isn’t a good day.”

“ _It’s his birthday_ ,” Bruce said flatly.

“Right, and we have plans already.”

“ _Plans that won’t allow me to see my son on his birthday? Are you doing cake? I could attend that_.”

“Bruce,” Clark said slowly, “It’s just, I promised someone who is coming that you wouldn’t be there.”

“ _Tim_ ,” Bruce said, and Clark could just _hear_ the scowl on his face.

He already knew all about the drama between Tim and Bruce. Tim had pretty much disowned himself from the Wayne family, and refused to have anything to do with Batman or Bruce.

And Bruce was reacting exactly as maturely as expected.

“Yeah, and since he asked first…”

“ _Tim doesn’t even like Damian. I am Damian’s father._ ”

The evidence pointed to the contrary, actually. He and Lois had just planned a private, small little celebration. Maybe a trip to the zoo or something, an art gallery. It had been Tim who got most of Damian’s family to attend the party.

Which just made Damian’s confession that morning all the more painful. Because none of these people, save Alfred, had remembered Damian’s birthday _last year._ And the only difference this year was Tim wasn’t missing. Which just led Clark to believe that it was possible _only_ Tim and Alfred remembered.

“This entire party was Tim’s plan, actually, so I wouldn’t say that.”

“ _Oh, so he planned the party just so I couldn’t_ -”

“Not everything is about you,” Clark snapped, already pretty much done with this conversation, “Tim planned the party because he was the _only one_ out of all of you to call me. Weeks ago. To ask if there were plans. _You_ only called me today. Did it take Alfred reminding you to even remember?”

“ _That is not_ -” Bruce growled, just for Clark to cut him off again.

“He cried, Bruce.”

Silence.

For several long seconds, before Bruce finally asked, quietly, “ _What?_ ”

“This morning. He cried, over you forgetting last year.”

“ _I didn’t forget,_ ” Bruce said lamely, “ _I was just busy._ ”

“He was _shocked,”_ Clark said, and he had to pause to take a breath. He could feel the hand tighten around his heart. The one that had been there that morning, threatening to make him cry right along with Damian.

It was a miracle Clark could get the words out now without sounding too affected. “He was so shocked we remembered that he cried.”

Over the phone, Clark heard Bruce swallow. Sniff. Clear his throat. But he didn’t say anything.

“Bruce, you don’t-”

“ _I don’t deserve him, I know_ ,” Bruce whispered. And that was not what Clark was going to say, at all. But he also couldn’t dispute the words. He’d thought them too many times since bringing Damian home.

“ _I just- I don’t know how to fix it, Clark. How do I fix it_?”

“Call him,” Clark said, “either right now or after dinner tonight. _Not_ during his party. Ask him if you can visit _tomorrow._ Just… make sure he knows you love him and you didn’t forget.”

If Clark couldn’t hear every breath Bruce took, he’d have checked his phone to see if the call had disconnected, Bruce was quiet so long. But eventually, Bruce said, “ _Okay. I will… Thanks, Clark_.”

“He’s only 14, Bruce, you still have plenty of time.”

The click of the line was what Clark was expecting to hear, but he stood there on the roof, for a couple more minutes, just staring out at the city. Damian _was_ only 14.

It was staggering, sometimes, to think about all that Damian had been through, in just 14 years. All the hells he’d experienced. Death. Second life. Betrayal after betrayal, move after move. New families and new normals. Over and over.

But even with all that, he was still such a great kid. One who cheated _for_ Jon in monopoly, by ‘accidentally’ over paying rent or waiving hotel fees, when the 10-year-old was getting frustrated to tears over going nearly bankrupt so quickly. One who loved art and music and animals and smiled so widely whenever he made a joke and made others laugh.

The kid downstairs whose heart-rate spiked in excitement when his phone started ringing, and answered so cheerfully, “ _Hello, Father_.”

That kid was amazing.

And Clark was thankful he was part of their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about Damian's birthday, so I came up with this and keep thinking about the actual party. Might write that, might not. Heh. We'll see. I already wasted enough time on this AU the past couple days, need to write Sunday's chapter of _Precedent_ now. xD
> 
> Dialogue that was cut: "To be fair, I forget to eat without Alfred's reminders."


	4. Protected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple weeks into Damian's stay, he's feeling smothered and annoyed that Clark is walking him to school.

The Kents were smothering him.

Damian was not used to so much ‘ _supervision.’_ It was driving him insane. 

Not only was the apartment tiny, but Lois and Clark seemed intent on always having Damian within their sight. 

Like they didn’t trust him. 

He couldn’t wait until he could just go back home and not deal with this. Father was never this stifling. 

It was dumb, anyway. Staying with the Kents. 

_Drake_ just had to go and ruin everything, didn’t he? 

“You boys about ready to go?” Clark asked, from where he sat at the table drinking his coffee and reading, waiting on Damian and Jon to finish dressing for school. 

“I can’t get the tie,” Jon whined, scowling down at the Windsor knot he’d absolutely butchered. _How_ he messed it up so bad, Damian wasn’t sure. 

“You’ve been attending this school eight months, Kent,” Damian scoffed, “there is no way you are this dense.”

“Come here son,” Clark said, setting the newspaper down and turning so he could help Jon with his tie.

Jon stuck his tongue out at Damian and let Clark redo the knot. 

“You’re giving it too much slack,” Clark said as he guided Jon’s hands through the motions, “There. Now,” he said, pushing Jon’s glasses up and tapping his nose, “you look presentable.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Damian rolled his eyes dramatically and said, “Yes. Can we leave now?”

Clark smiled and grabbed his briefcase…

Then walked with them. 

All the way to school.

And this was what Damian was talking about.

Clark Kent was _insufferable._

Damian was perfectly capable of walking himself seven blocks to school. 

Sure, Alfred used to always take him to school, but that’s because they lived in _Gotham._ And it was illegal for him to fly himself, so obviously Alfred had to fly him in. But Father gave Damian pretty much free rein of everything, just as long as he promised not to blow his secret ID. 

Which, that was easy. Usually. 

The _Kents_ never let him do anything. Ever. Every second of every day he was being watched. 

“Mr. Kent,” Damian said, trying to put as much ‘respect’ into his voice as he could muster, “You really don’t have to walk us to school.”

“Oh it’s no trouble, Damian,” Clark said, smiling ridiculously as he walked between Damian and Jon. 

“We’re perfectly capable of arriving at school on our own,” Damian pressed. 

“I know that, pal.”

Damian scowled at the nickname and glared ahead. Maybe he could call Father and ask to return home, then. If they didn’t leave him alone, soon, he was going to do just that.

It’s not like they could _stop_ him. He had kryptonite. 

“Then why do you insist?” Damian said, failing to keep the bite out of his voice, “Do you not trust me to attend without your supervision?”

“Of course not, I know you’ll do the responsible thing without me ensuring it,” Clark said instantly, then paused for a moment before adding conspiratorially, “This is for cover.”

Raising an eyebrow at that, Damian asked, “Cover?” Jon, too, looked up curiously as he skipped along. 

“Yep.” Clark grinned and ruffled Jon’s hair, “It’s not normal for kids Jon’s age to walk to school alone. This is how we maintain our cover.”

Jon _was_ ten, Damian supposed. And ‘normal’ American ten-year-olds _were_ rather ridiculous. And obviously no one could know Jon was half-alien and perfectly capable of not getting hit by a car or something stupid. 

“But I am walking with him now,” Damian pointed out. He was thirteen. It was normal for the other seventh graders in his class to walk themselves to school, after all. 

“Yes,” Clark agreed, “but you’re also still rather young. Maybe some people let kids your age walk alone, but it’s still not a universal thing. And with Lois and I being a little more known, it’s less likely we’d be the kind of parents to allow it. And with you _definitely_ being known, people would probably ask questions”

“Ah. I suppose that makes sense.”

People asking questions would not go over well. In fact, since no one knew Damian was living with the Kents, bringing any sort of attention to themselves was likely to set off an entire media storm. What would the public say if they found out Damian wasn’t allowed to live with Father right now? 

They’d probably turn on Drake, too. Or Kyle. Since all this was their faults. Damian grinned to himself, briefly, until he decided that wasn’t a good thing. Scrutiny was a bad thing, regardless of which one in the family got the brunt of it.

Clark smiled and set a hand on Damian’s shoulder, pulling him in a little closer as he did the same with Jon. “Besides, I enjoy walking with you boys.”

“You _enjoy_ ….” Damian started, just to trail off. What was there to _enjoy_ about just walking seven blocks? Twice a day? They rarely even talked on the walk. “Why?” 

Clark ruffled Damian’s hair and said, “I enjoy spending time with you.” 

That… Damian didn’t have a good retort to that. But it didn’t matter, anyway, because they arrived at the gates to their school, and Clark knelt down to fix Jon’s collar before hugging him goodbye. 

“Have a great day, boys,” he said, standing and straightening Damian’s collar, too. The one on his blazer that his messenger bag had ruffled during the walk. 

“Bye, Dad,” Jon said, “see you this afternoon!”

Damian just looked down at his blazer, then back at Clark. And the way Clark smiled at him, all warm and soft, made his stomach do something weird. 

Shaking himself of it, he said, “You as well, Mr. Kent,” and turned to walk through the gate with Jon. 

But he did look back, just briefly, to see Clark still standing there, just watching to make sure they made it into the main building. 

And for the first time, Damian didn’t feel quite so smothered, but rather…. 

Protected. Maybe.

Even if he didn’t need it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are obviously a bit out of order. This is a collection of one-shots, not a long fic. If I don't make it clear within the text of the work about when the fic takes place, I'll be sure to put it in the summary. 
> 
> Even if this isn't a long fic, I've thought way too much about this AU, and have basic character development arc for Damian (and Tim, and Jason, and Bruce. Meep) in my head. So I'm not entirely making crap up as I go along. But I'm mostly making crap up as I go along. 😇


	5. Birthday Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is flabbergasted when Tim Drake leads the initiative to have basically the entire Batfamily over to the Kents' for his birthday. Clark explains to him why Tim would do such a thing.

Bewildered was the only word Damian could use to describe how he felt.

Because just that morning, he hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge what the day even _was._ But now, after he’d spent the morning playing video games with Jon, chatting with his Father on the phone, and then having a rather lovely lunch, people were showing up at the apartment.

Lots of people.

People Damian knew.

That he’d call family, if pressed.

...Plus Drake’s insufferable friends.

Which was just _weird._ Kon and Stephanie were there among the attendees, right along side Jason, Cass, Duke, _and Alfred._

So yes, Damian was bewildered. Or befuddled. Or just plain old confused.

Alfred he understood, of course. Even if the two of them had barely spoken since Damian got whisked away to the Kent’s, Alfred had always been one to _remember_ things. And despite their relationship’s rocky start, Alfred had always been someone stable and supportive in his life. So, actually, he thought himself stupid for _not_ realizing Alfred would actually remember.

It was the rest of these people that startled him.

He’d felt off kilter ever since he’d answered the door, an hour before, at Jon’s insistence that “it’s for you, D.”

Which, that was just annoying. The x-ray vision. The flagrant use of powers within the privacy of the apartment. Damian wasn’t used to it. Clark and Jon just…. casually floated around, sometimes. Used heat vision to heat things up. Speed to get chores done in a blink. And x-ray vision to look at and find things.

Damian was becoming progressively more amused by the exasperated glances Lois shot him, though, whenever one of them forgot that the rest of them _couldn’t_ just look through the fridge door to see how many eggs were left.

It usually made him grin, actually. And he’d caught himself giving her the same look, a few times.

When Damian opened the door, however, he kind of wished he _did_ have x-ray vision. Just so he could have had those precious few seconds to prepare himself.

Because on the other side of the door was Tim Drake. Just standing there. Holding a neatly wrapped gift with a card on top, and surrounded by all those people.

“Uhh,” Damian had stammered, a horrid habit he’d acquired from Jon, no doubt.

“Hey,” Tim had said, offering a lopsided grin as he pushed the gift at Damian, “Happy Birthday, gremlin. Gonna let us in?”

So Damian did, and it’d been a literal party ever since.

Which was what was so bewildering.

He’d never had a birthday party before.

Not like this.

They had cake and ice cream, as a group, and suddenly it made sense why Lois and Clark had made such a _large_ cake. Before Damian was allowed to blow out his candles, he had to listen to the group sing him a ridiculous song, and it made him nostalgic for that first birthday he'd had away from the League.

Back when it was just him and Grayson and Alfred.

Grayson had sung this same song, all off key and squeaky, entirely on purpose, just to annoy Damian. But it’d been that gentle teasing, The kind Damian had come to associate with Dick Grayson. The kind that made him ache for his older brother, wishing beyond hope that the man would just hit his head and suddenly remember everything. Even though he knew that was not how brain injuries worked.

But just as the song had done on his 11th birthday, it made Damian feel warm inside on his 14th. It filled, just a little, that empty spot in his chest. The one that so often burned, with a soft almost…. happiness he had a difficult time describing. But _damn_ was he going to cry again today. Especially not in front of all these people.

It was one thing to cry in front of the Kents, but like hell would he make such a mistake in front of the Bats.

“Clark,” Damian asked, once everyone had finished their cake and Clark and Lois were gathering the plates to wash, so they could ‘open presents,’ as Jon had shouted so enthusiastically. Brat probably knew whatever Damian got would be stored in their room, and therefore was basically his, too.

At least, that had been his reasoning, a few weeks back, when Damian caught Jon using his nice markers to draw the most horrific drawing of his dad he’d ever laid eyes on. ‘A school project,’ he had said, ‘we have to draw our favorite superhero.’ Damian had just scoffed and criticized both his misuse of the expensive Copics, as well as his predictable selection of his own father as his favorite superhero.

‘Isn’t Batman your favorite,’ Jon had said, to which Damian scoffed, ‘Yes, but _Bruce Wayne_ is not.’ It had effectively shut Jon up. And relaying the price of each marker had also caused Jon to hand them back over, not wanting to replace any by ruining them.

“Yeah, bud?” Clark asked, smiling as he rinsed off each plate at lightning speed, even while he spoke to Damian. They were alone in the kitchen, and even though it was an open concept apartment, the group was being loud enough that Damian was confident in their privacy.

“Did you invite everyone?” he asked, resisting the urge to look away or pull his hood up. He hated his tells, and he tried his best not to show them.

“No,” Clark said easily, now drying the dishes off and putting them away in the cabinets. Why have a dishwasher when you have a Clark, Lois always said. “Tim did, actually. This entire party was his idea.”

“Tim _Drake,”_ Damian asked incredulously. Because that made no sense. Damian had just been curious whether he should thank the Kents or Alfred for the party. It had never even crossed his mind that _Tim_ might be the culprit.

Because _what the hell??_

“Is there more than one Tim?” Clark asked, clearly amused, now just leaning back against the sink to chat.

Well, yes, there was more than one Tim, Damian thought, but it was true that he didn’t _personally_ know another Tim. It’s just, never in a million years would he have expected _Tim Drake_ to be the one to do something so…. thoughtful. To be the reason Damian felt at peace for once, in a world without Dick Grayson, that is. And without Father around.

“But… Tim hates me?” Damian whispered, failing to prevent his shock from showing on his face, “Why would he….”

When Damian trailed off, Clark just frowned. “I don’t know what all has gone down between you two,” Clark said slowly but softly. In that same tone he always used when comforting Damian. He kind of hated that he liked it so much. “But I can tell you this: He does not hate you. I’d venture to say he actually loves you.”

All Damian could do was shake his head. Because no. No no no no no. That wasn’t right.

That _couldn’t_ be right.

Tim Drake did not _love_ Damian. Tim was the one who always rolled his eyes whenever Damian started speaking at family meetings. He was the one who groaned whenever Damian crashed one of his cases. When he had to team up with the Teen Titans, and Damian was there. When Father assigned them to patrol together. When he just remembered Damian existed, in general.

And it’s not like Damian didn’t _deserve_ it. He realized, now, how wrongly he had treated his ‘brother’ from the beginning. Pushing him off the dinosaur had been unforgivable, he now knew. The fact Tim even tolerated him enough to _simply_ groan and roll his eyes at his presence was more than Damian deserved, after breaking so many of his bones for no good reason.

So, no, Tim Drake did not _love_ Damian. It was impossible. If their roles were reversed, Damian would never forgive Tim. Ever. Would be glad to be rid of him after this whole _thing_ went down between Father and the rest of them, pulling Damian out of Gotham and Tim away from Father.

“Damian,” Clark said, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulders and pulling him in a little, “whatever is going around in that head of yours is wrong, okay? Tim cares about you, pal. Otherwise he wouldn’t have reached out _weeks ago_ to make these plans. All those people over there care about you. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t, okay?”

Resting the side of his head against Clark for a second, the only acceptance of the half hug he’d show, Damian looked at the group of people sitting in the living room, carrying on and laughing about whatever dumb thing Jason had just said.

Steph noticed he was staring, and she smiled brightly and called, “Come on, birthday boy. Come open your presents, and be prepared to be _amazed_ by my awesome gift. Everything else on this table pales in comparison, I promise.”

“Shut up,” Jason said, tossing a chip at her for the comment, “I’ll have you know my gift is very thoughtful and incredible. The demon will _cry_ I tell you. Cry.”

“Pfft,” Tim said loudly, “Mine’s the best. Kon already confirmed it.”

“That’s cheating,” Steph screeched, “You can’t use powers like that!”

It just devolved into chaos from there, as the lot of them continued arguing. Clark squeezed Damian’s shoulder and said, “Go on. I don’t think they’ll stop until you open them all and declare a winner.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, even though he was smiling a little, “it is not proper to play favorites with gifts. It is the thought that counts, I have been told.”

“There’s the Alfred in you,” Clark said fondly, pushing Damian toward the living room.

The gifts were all incredible. Well, some more-so than others. Jason got him a gift card to one of the local art supply chains, as well as a copy of one of his favorite books. Alfred got him a set of teas, all of his favorites from when he was living in the manor. Steph got him a cartoon-style Robin figure, which was just insulting and kind of hilarious.

But when Damian opened Tim’s gift, he make sure to pay attention to his brother’s face, without making it obvious he was doing so. Tim’s expressions were carefully blank, but Damian could tell he was doing that to cover up for anxiety and excitement for whatever he had gotten Damian. And once the item was fully unwrapped, all Damian could do was gawk.

Because in Damian’s hands was a set of extremely rare natural pigments. He actually hadn’t even heard of half of the pigment sources, that was how obscure they were. But they were some of the most vibrant colors he’d ever seen. Bright purple, rich orange, dark blue, deep red, just to name a few of the colors he saw.

They were…. incredible.

He actually could not wait to mix some of them up and try them out.

“I got them in the gem world,” Tim explained, “a lot of those are made from materials not found on earth.”

When Damian realized what that confession _meant,_ he almost did cry _._ Because at some point, months ago, before this entire fiasco had even begun, Tim _Drake_ had seen a set of pigments while stranded in another dimension and thought ‘hey, Damian would like those,’ and then got them. Stored them away and waited for his birthday, and then planned an entire party when he realized the Bats were not doing one.

Just that realization threatened to set him over the edge again, but instead he just smiled.

He smiled and started to think that, yeah. Maybe Tim _didn’t_ hate him.

Damian definitely didn’t hate Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm back to beat the dead horse that is the birthday storyline a little more. No, I'm not done with it, either. 🤡
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D Thanks for all the motivation y'all provide just by reading. ❤️❤️


	6. To Blame and Absolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Damian have a chat about the events of Batman 71, and Damian does some heavy introspection.

“Do you try to be this broody, or does it come naturally?” 

Damian didn’t even flinch at his brother’s voice suddenly penetrating the gentle silence he’d been enjoying. There was no way he’d give Tim the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled Damian. 

He’d come up to the roof to get some air and some space, _away_ from everyone. The Kent’s apartment was normally too small for the four of them, but with most of his family there, too, it was downright tiny. 

Most of them had left after the party, a welcomed relief from the onslaught of socialization. Their presence was appreciated, of course, but after a few hours Damian had grown tired. People were exhausting. Especially when they all wanted to talk to him about _everything._ Fill him in on every little detail he’d missed, and learn all about his life in Metropolis. 

Tim, though, had been quiet most the day. He and Jason joined the Kents for Damian’s birthday dinner, out at his favorite vegetarian joint down the street. But Tim hadn’t said more than a few sentences to Damian. He didn’t talk much in general, though, so Damian wasn’t taking it personally. Tim could be like that, sometimes. Quiet and reserved. 

“Probably naturally,” Tim said, as he finished crossing the roof and sat down next to Damian, letting his legs dangle over the side, too, “One of the side effects of being Batman’s son, huh?”

Damian exhaled, letting his breath be a little louder than normal. The only response he could muster at the moment. He was tired. _Exhausted._ His tanks were empty and he was currently operating on the reserves. Conversation felt too difficult, at the moment.

Never in his life had he had this problem. Always, he’d had plenty of time to himself. If he interacted with other people, it was completely one-on-one, with an exception to missions or patrol. Or the rare family meeting, back at Father’s. Or the rarer family dinner. Even while staying at Titan’s Tower he had enough time to himself. His team cared about him, he had no doubt, but they left him be most the time. 

Everyone always did.

He’d been told he was difficult to be around…

But lately, that hadn’t been the case.

This roof was the only escape he had. 

As he’d grown more comfortable with Clark and Lois, it had been less of an issue. Their company sometimes felt the same as sitting alone. The same peace, that is, without the crushing feeling alone could sometimes carry. 

Laying on the couch, hiding in his hoody as he watched videos on his phone with Clark sitting on the opposite side of the room, watching the news, felt as relaxing as sitting on this roof. If he wanted attention, all he had to do was say, ‘Hey, Clark,’ and he’d have it. But if he wanted silence, he could just stay silent. And he had that, as well.

It was… nice. 

Pleasant. 

Extremely so. 

Damian had never grown so comfortable around Father, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that revelation. Not when he’d had it, a few weeks back, and certainly not now. He’d always been so worried about making his father proud. Not disappointing him. Maybe had he just let that go, their relationship would have been better…

“I know the song goes ‘it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,’ but the party ended a few hours ago. So that ship has sailed.” Tim moved his hand in a whooshing motion, as if setting a ship off himself, and Damian could see the goofy little grin tugging at the edge of his lips. He was pleased with himself. What a _dork._

“I’m not crying,” Damian said, matter of factly. 

“Good, because again,” Tim said, repeating the motion right in front of Damian’s face, this time, “ship: sailed.”

Rolling his eyes, Damian slumped a little and asked, “Why are you here?”

“Clark said you were up here.” 

“No,” Damian sighed, then paused to take a breath and sit back up. Muster up the energy to actually talk to his brother. When was the last time he’d talked to Tim? Alone? About anything? 

He couldn’t remember.

“I meant _here,”_ he continued, “ _Today.”_

“What?” Tim said, laughing a little, “I can’t want to spend time with my little brother on his birthday?”

_Brother._

Damian’s not sure either of them have ever admitted that aloud. He’d accepted it, of course. _Years_ ago, actually. But pride always prevented him from backing down from the rivalry they’d built up. Pride and hurt feelings. 

“Tt,” he huffed, “You never have before.”

Even now, it was a difficult habit to suppress. He already hated himself for it, but this was their pattern. Tim would say something insulting back, probably about how Damian was so difficult or ‘such a brat,’ and Damian would call him pointless, and then Tim would leave him alone. Let him get his rest. 

The weird part, though, was Damian didn’t really want that. 

“I know,” Tim said quietly, his face sobering as he looked out over the city lights, “I’m sorry.”

That got Damian to blink. Once. Twice. He looked over at Tim and stared for a good second before he asked, “What?” Because he had to have hallucinated that. Tim was _not_ following the script. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeated, “It must have felt like we abandoned you after… After. I kept meaning to reach out, to text you, but we don’t—We didn’t have a good…” Tim sighed, pausing to take a breath and run his hand through his hair, “And I kept talking myself out of it. Telling myself you wouldn’t appreciate it. So. Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Damian said lamely, looking back out at the lights of the city. All the tiny little cars, white and red lights going in all different directions. Kind of like their family, as of late. All over the place and avoiding one another. 

Because in reality, Damian hadn’t tried to contact any of them, either. Not Tim. Not Jason. Not… Ric. 

At first, it was because he was confused. He didn’t know how to feel after Father had… lashed out. At Timothy. That was not something Father did. He only struck other adults. Never children. And while Damian loathed to admit it, he and Tim were, indeed, children. At least in the eyes of the law. And once, in the eyes of Father. 

But somewhere along the way he’d changed his rules. 

And Damian wanted to blame anyone but Father. Because Father was _Father._ Damian had grown up looking up to the incredible Batman, the infallible man that was his father. 

‘ _No one’s perfect,’_ Dick had always said. For some reason, it had been a difficult concept to apply to his father. 

So, he figured Tim must have deserved it. Clearly. After all, Damian had always earned the strikes made against him as a child. 

“I may not have,” he admitted, closing his eyes to block out the sight of Tim tensing. Because he’d been so angry with Tim, there for a while. Right up until that morning, when Tim showed up at the front door.

Now. 

Now Damian didn’t know what to think. Because he was fairly certain his father had forgotten his birthday, again. And was likely reminded by Alfred to call him. But, Father had reached out to him a few times since he moved in with the Kents, and Tim never had. 

“Why not?” Tim asked carefully, his voice only giving off curiosity. Not the anxiety he’d sensed before. 

And Damian was intensely aware of their position. Sitting on the edge of the roof of a high rise, about 10 stories up.

He would never push Tim off. 

Or…

He would have. Four years ago. But not now. No matter what Tim did, or how his actions affected their family. His overreactions. Really, that’s what all this was. An overreaction. 

“Oh my god,” Tim whined, “You’re just like Jason.” 

Damian scowled at that, because he was _nothing_ like Jason. Nothing. 

“You are,” Tim said, clearly reading his thoughts now, “You two think alike. He thought everything was my fault, too.”

“I didn’t say that,” Damian protested, but could feel his face heat. He felt like a small child caught sneaking into the kitchens to swipe chocolate chips. When had Tim learned to read him so well? He couldn’t read Timothy hardly at all.

“So you don’t think it’s my fault?” Tim challenged.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Daman met his gaze straight on and said, “I think you overreacted, and then everyone else overreacted.”

“Was what Bruce did wrong?”

 _It was uncalled for,_ Damian thought. Unless Drake had done something earlier in the night, Father had overreacted, as well.

Overreactions all around. 

Damian jumped when Tim smacked him on the shoulder, just hard enough for him to feel, but no where near hard enough to actually cause pain. 

“What the hell?” he asked, anyway, because _hello,_ sitting on the edge of a roof here. Why would he try to start a fight like that? 

“Was that your fault?” Tim asked, the challenge still in his voice, his gaze hard. 

And Damian had already followed Tim’s train of thought right down to the conclusion.

But he wasn’t a willing passenger on this train and he was nothing if not obstinate.

“Yes,” he said evenly, holding Tim’s challenging eyes. 

“Yes?” Tim scoffed, “How.”

“I should have blocked.” It wasn’t untrue, after all. Four years ago, Tim would have never been able to touch him at all. He would have seen the attack coming and dodged, then counterattacked. He’d grown complacent over the years. Dropped his guard and stopped watching. 

Tim offered a half smile, and Damian realized he’d probably just answered wrong. Because it was clear Tim knew exactly how to win this argument, now. “And why didn’t you, Damian? I know you’re capable of doing so.” 

Damian opened his mouth, but then snapped it back shut. Pouted at Tim. He saw his error, now. 

“Come on, just be honest. I’m not trying to make fun of you. Why didn’t you block?”

“I was not expecting the strike,” he bit out, shifting his gaze back out to the city. So at least he wouldn't have to watch Tim’s victorious grin. 

“Right. Why?”

“Drake,” he complained, crossing his arms and slumping down a little more. He kind of wanted to go back to the quiet from earlier. Reserved Tim with tired Damian. 

“ _Why_ Damian,” Tim insisted, leaning forward a little dangerously to look right at Damian’s face, “Why weren’t you expecting me to hit you?”

Damian sat back up so Tim wouldn’t kill himself trying to look at him. “Because, in my experience it is not something you do.” 

Tim rolled his hand, as if to say ‘keep going,’ so Damian rolled his eyes.

“I have known you for years. You are my ally. We are not currently engaged in a fight. I am at home. You- You’re…”

“I’m your brother,” Tim supplied, and Damian just shrugged, so Tim added, “You’re safe with me.”

“ _Yes,_ Drake,” he exasperated. He hated conversations like this. They did _nothing_ to help the exhausted in him. This was almost too much for his reserve tanks to handle. “Your point.” 

“Do you know who I thought I was safe with?” 

Damian shifted, looked down at his hands. Perhaps that was their problem. They’d let their guard down when they should not have. They were in the middle of a war, after all. 

“Do you know what child abuse is?” 

“Father is _not_ an abuser,” Damian asserted, snapping his attention back up to glower at Tim. Damian _knew_ what abuse was. And Father hitting Drake one. time. was not abuse. 

“If you saw a random civilian punch his child—his teenager, would you call that abuse?” 

Damian just scowled harder, refused to answer. 

Because… Because yeah. Maybe. He’d definitely step in and intervene. Figure out what was going on. 

Get the kid away, if needed…

“Right,” Tim said, as if he were still reading his damn thoughts, “and if you saw that same man hit his children repeatedly. Three of them. And beat a couple of them enough to cause serious injury, what would you call that?”

“Abuse,” he breathed, rubbing at his face. 

“And would it be the kid’s fault or the adult’s fault?”

“ _Drake_ ,” he begged, because he wanted to drop this. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He’d quit blaming Tim if he just _let it go._

“Damian,” Tim said, grabbing onto his shoulders and turning him so they were facing each other completely, “this is important. You need to understand.”

“It would be the adult’s fault,” he said quickly, and added with, to his horror, a touch of panic, “But Tim, he’s _Father.”_

He could feel the stinging, just below his eyes, and the last thing he wanted to do was _cry._

Father was coming to visit him tomorrow. He couldn’t just… he didn’t need _this._

“I know kid,” Tim said, letting go of Damian, “I know. But that doesn’t make what he did right.” 

“But he’s never hit _me,”_ Damian whispered. He was fairly certain if he spoke any louder, his voice would crack. And then he’d be a goner. No turning back.

“Yeah,” Tim whispered back, wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulders and tugging him a little closer, “I used to say the same thing.”

They had been wrong, hadn’t they? To feel safe. It wasn’t just because they were at war while out in the streets. It was because _Father_ was at war. With himself. With his demons. And he hadn’t been handling that well for years. 

No wonder Dick didn’t want to have anything to do with them anymore. He lost his memories, and therefore any sense of obligation to the rest of them. It was an out for him, and Damian wasn’t sure he blamed him for taking it. 

And Jason… Jason had reason to leave _years_ ago. Honestly, he should have never come back to Gotham. Had Father treated Damian the way he treated Todd, he’s not sure he would have returned. Shooting the Penguin was certainly not deserving of the beating he took. Damian had known that even at the time, but he’d been so blinded by his devotion to his father and his… dislike… of his brother to do anything about it. To object.

That was all it took. Hot tears spilled out and he let himself sink into Tim’s hold a little more. Tim wasn’t Dick. Not by a long shot. But he wasn’t a terrible substitute, either. 

Especially not since he now knew Tim cared about him. Evidenced by this entire day, and Clark’s words earlier still ringing in his ears. 

And Jason, too. 

He didn’t deserve any of their love. He’d been so unfair to them, for months. For _years._

“It’s all right,” Tim soothed, wrapping his other arm around Damian in a full hug, “It’s going to work out, you know? We’ll figure it out.” 

“Why aren’t you upset about this,” Damian asked a little petulantly, a minute later after he’d regained control of himself. He’d never been much of a cryer, after all. 

“Don’t worry, I already cried into Jason’s shirt. So we’re even.” 

Despite himself, Damian laughed as he scrubbed his face clean. It was a funny thought, the Red Hood letting Tim cry into his shirt. 

Tim pushed at his shoulder a little, _playfully,_ and said, “You’re such a brat.” 

It was crazy, what this whole mess had created. Tim and Damian talking to each other. Tim and Jason doing the same. Really, what Damian had though broke their family merely made it stronger. Just, without Father. 

He had no doubt that he’d be seeing Tim a lot more often, now. And Jason, too, most likely. If they were really as close as Damian had gleaned from their interactions today. 

“Damian,” Tim asked, his face sobering, “Are you happy here? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Tim,” Damian said, not needed to even think about it. Because he’d thought about it _a lot._ Especially today. “I’m good.” 

“Good,” came the reply, as Tim nodded slowly and seemed to get lost in his own thoughts, “That’s good. I’m glad.” 

“What about you? Are you happy?”

“I’m,” Tim started, then paused and blinked, like he wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to respond. Eventually, he settled with, “I’ll get there.” 

“Well,” Damian started, but trailed off. He flushed a little, because what right did he have to offer any sort of support to Tim? He wasn’t quite sure how, either. 

It didn’t matter, though, because Tim as always picked up on his meaning and smiled. “Brothers gotta stick together.” 

“Yeah.”

“It’s getting late. Jay and I have to get back to Gotham, but we won’t be strangers anymore, okay?”

“Sure,” Damian agreed, flipping his legs up back onto the roof to slide off the wall they’d been sitting on. The one meant to keep them from doing stupid things like sit on the edge. 

Damian had no doubt that Clark kept his ear on them the entire time. Maybe not actually listening to the words, but listening for any distress. He tended to do that. If either of them had fallen, he was certain Superman would have appeared and caught them. 

“We’ll come visit,” Tim followed Damian’s lead and stood, “How’s next weekend?” 

“Works for me.” 

It was perfect, actually. Unless the Titans needed him, he would have spent the weekend doing a lot of nothing. But a lot of nothing could be quite fun, when it was done in the Kent’s apartment. 

“Perfect.” Tim hesitated for a second, but then pulled Damian into another hug. It happened so fast, Damian hadn’t time to react before Tim was crossing the roof and escaping to the stairwell, throwing out a, “Later, squirt,” over his shoulder as he did. 

But Damian could feel all the words Tim wanted to say, but couldn’t get out. 

And yeah, Clark was definitely right. And if Tim loved him, perhaps it wasn’t too large a leap to believe the rest of them did, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing was a beast to write, but I'm so glad I'm done. I have a one shot from Tim's POV that deals with what he does right after Batman 71, and Jason is the one who comes to him out of the entire family so that's what that was referring to. I posted the WIP somewhere on Tumblr but I'm too tired to track it down on that terrible site. I'll finish writing it someday and add it to this series. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. ❤️❤️
> 
> Edit: [Tumblr actually gave me the link without even looking.](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com/post/185876672062/life-with-the-kents-au-tims-life-pt-1-rough) Ha. It was the suggested post from my posting of this.


	7. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his conversation with Tim, Damian couldn't sleep. He spent the night stressing instead, and that led to an awful birthday outing with his father. Luckily, Lois was there to pick him up when he stumbled.

Father came the next morning, just as he’d promised on the phone.

Yesterday, Damian had been looking forward to this. A lot. He hadn’t seen his father much since moving to Metropolis, so the prospect of spending the entire day with him had been very exciting. Even if they were going to stay in Metropolis. Sure, Damian missed Gotham, but it was his Father he’d missed most.

But after his and Tim’s conversation the night before, Damian’s excitement had turned to apprehension.

He wasn’t _afraid_ of his father. He knew Father would not hit him in public. That wasn’t something he’d _ever_ done. To any of them. He wasn’t even afraid he’d hit him in private. Because, really. Father had to be pushed.

It was just the realization that…that was a possibility. At some point. In his life. That the man who claimed to love them all was capable of such a thing…

Well. The thought had kept Damian up all night.

“You all right?” Clark had asked, at around 4am when came out to the living room, where Damian was swatching out the paints Tim got him. He’d never been one to just stay lying in bed when it was obvious sleep was never going to find him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, mixing up his next color to swatch out. So far, each color had been insanely vibrant. Very saturated. They were interesting paints, for sure. He’d probably need to mix in other paints to help balance them out, though. His oil paints might mix well with these. That should be what he tested out next.

Clark stood behind him and watched him work for a moment, his hand resting on Damian’s shoulder. It was incredibly relaxing, and since Clark was likely listening to his heartbeat, there was no doubt the stupid alien knew that and that’s why he kept it up.

Honestly, the lack of privacy he got in this house.

“I don’t know what you and Tim talked about,” Clark said slowly, after a moment, “but clearly it’s bothering you. If you want to talk to me about it, I’m right here.”

Well, okay. Maybe he got _some_ privacy. It’s not like Clark could help the fact he could hear Damian’s heart-rate. It was probably as natural and normal to Clark as Damian _seeing_ someone produce tears or hearing their breath catch.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, maybe a little more testily than Clark deserved. But it didn’t deter Clark. No. Instead, he sat in the chair next to Damian and left his arm back around Damian’s shoulders.

That was probably one of the many things he liked about the Kents. No matter how bratty he got, how much he snapped at them, or how rude he became, they never walked away from him.

He’d almost cried, right then.

But Clark saved him by asking, “So what are you going to paint?”

They’d spent the rest of the night… morning? The rest of the morning chatting about everything pointless. Damian explained how the paints worked and showed Clark his process for creating a piece, and Clark helped him decide on what to make.

In the end, he’d painted a simple skyline of Metropolis. And just to make Clark smile, he’d added a tiny little Superman, flying above the city.

Just a dot of blue with a smudge of red, really, but it’d helped him finish off his sleepless night with his own smile when Clark declared, “This is the best painting of me I’ve ever seen!”

It was just another reason why he really liked the Kents. Because when Father showed up just after breakfast, Damian felt relaxed. Such a stark difference from his feelings the night before.

Sure, he was exhausted, but he didn’t feel like his blood would shake right out of his veins or his heart would quit beating entirely with the stress and anxiety of the night before clutching away at his chest.

When he answered the door and saw Father standing there, holding a wrapped present and smiling awkwardly, he was even able to smile back. He quickly put the present on his bed, then rejoined his father in the front room, eager to get going with their day.

“Dinner’s at six,” Clark said, just as Damian was about to follow Father out to the car. While it had been phrased innocently enough, they all knew Father had just been given a curfew.

That didn’t particularly matter to Damian. He knew the day with Father would not last forever. And, honestly, he didn’t want it to. He still needed… time. To process everything that had happened.

Father, on the other hand, seemed particularly perturb at Clark, and Damian just barely caught him mumbling, “He’s _my_ kid, Clark. I’ll keep him as long as I damn well please.”

Damian frowned, but didn’t comment as he climbed into the passenger seat of Father’s car. He wanted to have a pleasant day with his Father. Not one spent in the middle of a fight between Clark and Bruce.

He really did not want to be forced to choose between the two of them.

Thankfully, Father did drop it. Eventually. They spent the thirty minutes it took to get to their destination in silence, Father tightly gripping the steering wheel as he fumed. But once they pulled into the parking lot of the Natural History Museum, his shoulders relaxed and he turned to face Damian.

“How does this sound, for at least the morning,” Father asked, scratching at his neck for a second before dropping his hand and asking, “Clark said you hadn’t been here yet.”

“I’ve been wanting to come,” Damian said, letting a small smile onto his face, “There’s an exhibit about the t-rex right now.”

“You like dinosaurs? I didn’t know that.”

Damian shrugged and got out of the car after Father, then trailed along beside him as they went inside. “Apparently most American children learn about them at a young age. It was never part of my curriculum, but I’ve been reading up on the Mesozoic Era lately. It was a natural diversion in topic.”

“Hm. Any particular reason for that course of study,” Father asked, just as they got in line to purchase tickets.

“No,” he admitted, leaning back against the wall behind him, “Got lost on Wikipedia and found it interesting. Clark got me a card at the library so I could check out books on the topic.”

Clark had actually been thrilled when Damian started showing interest in history. It’d only started a few weeks ago, thus the lack of visiting the Natural History Museum already.

He knew had the entire Kent Family had a whole day off at the same time, they would have visited already. Clark didn’t like going out like that unless Lois could come, too. But every time they thought they had time, something came up. Usually Superman related, but sometimes Daily Planet related.

Regardless, Clark had wanted to encourage Damian’s independent studying, and had brought him to the library one afternoon after school to get him his own library card.

The name they used for it was fake, of course. Couldn’t have the librarian knowing the son of Bruce Wayne was living with Clark Kent in Metropolis, and being a minor he didn’t need an ID to get a library card. Just a self-proclaimed parent or guardian to apply for one for him.

‘D. W. Kent’ was the name Clark had written down. When the librarian asked what ‘D.W.’ stood for, Clark had said, “Nothing, that’s his name,” putting on a thicker Kansas-country twang. The dopy, farm boy smile he followed up with sold it to the point the librarian obviously thought Clark was empty-headed, and Damian was left grinning, trying his best to hide it from the librarian.

“Fake a country accent,” Clark had said, after they left the library, “City-folk are thrown by it and it’s automatic points against your assumed intelligence. You can get by with _a lot.”_

It’d made Damian realize that Clark was more clever than Father gave him credit for. He’d already known the man was smart, but Clark could play up his perceived persona just as well as Father could. And that playboy wasn’t the only persona that worked for throwing people off a secret identity.

“You could always purchase any book you wanted with your credit card,” Father said dryly, “I didn’t cut you off. Then you could keep it when you were done.”

“I don’t have any place _to_ keep it,” he said, shrugging again as he pulled his weight off the wall to move with the line, “there’s not much room in the apartment, Father.”

“There’s plenty of room at the Manor,” Father nearly _grumbled._ Petulantly. Like a child.

That was something Father did a lot, wasn’t it?

Why had Damian never noticed?

“I enjoy visiting the library,” Damian said instead of address any of _that._ He honestly did. It was fun. He could, and did, get lost in the stacks whenever he went. Clark usually found a quiet place to sit and work while Damian and Jon wandered around for as long as they wanted. Lois had even brought them once. It was great.

His day wasn’t, though.

The rest of the day went pretty much in the same manner, to Damian’s reluctant disappointment.

They went out for lunch after the museum, then to the horticulture center across town for the afternoon. Father attempted small talk throughout the outing, but always managed to bring the topic back to Damian moving home. In a very indirect way.

He never once said, ‘Damian, come home,’ but instead pointed out how, in Gotham, Damian would be able to do something better or more often. Like when Damian had mentioned having to adjust to a bedtime, Father had said, “Bedtimes are pointless. It is why you don’t have one in my house.”

Damian had wanted to argue that he had, in fact, had a bedtime in Father’s house. He just never followed it. And Father was wishy-washy about enforcing it.

But he was so exhausted. And the more he thought about it, the more his mind was comparing Clark to Father. _Lois_ to Father. The parents they were to the parent Father was.

And he was just _so_ exhausted. He did not want to think about any of that.

Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t argued with Father about anything, all day. Pulling an all-nighter had really taken a toll. And really, the entire day before it, too.

It came at the end of their day, however. The _real_ toll his exhaustion would take.

Because Father had worn him out throughout the day, as well. Damian was fairly certain even had he received a full nights rest, he would have reacted in exactly the same way.

They arrived back at the Kent’s apartment half past six, late for dinner, of course. But Damian doubted Clark actually cared. Not about them being late, at least. After Father parallel parked, he turned off the car and turned in his seat to face Damian fully. Damian raised an eyebrow, and just sat there, waiting for his Father to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

He hadn’t been expecting Father to be quite so direct, though.

“Are you about ready to come back home?”

“What?” he asked, because what did that even mean? It wasn’t up to Damian when he got to go home. At least, he didn’t think it was?

Father frowned, but rephrased the question to, “How much longer do you want to spend in Metropolis?”

And it left Damian no less confused. Because, again. “I- That’s not really my choice, Father.”

“Of course it is,” Father said, frowning harder now as he shifted some in his seat, “No one can keep you somewhere against your will, Damian.”

Damian blinked. And stared. Then he noticed his mouth had fallen open a little, so he snapped it shut. Because what made Father think this was all against _Damian’s_ will? Damian had kryptonite in his utility belt. If he really wanted to get away from the Kents, he could. Now that he knew them, though, knew Clark better, he knew that they would never hold him against his will. If he demanded to be returned home, Clark would do it.

He might report Bruce to the authorities for abuse, but he’d return Damian home…

But why would Damian fight to go back home? When Father never fought for him? At all? Father had made exactly one protestation about Clark taking him. One. Then he just _dropped_ it and walked off. Hadn’t even said _goodbye._ It took Damian texting Father to even hear from him for the first time.

Clark was willing to fight Father, his self-proclaimed best friend, although Damian was starting to doubt that was the case anymore, just to bring Damian to what he thought was safety.

That’s what this was all about, after all. Deep down, Damian had always kind of known that. He knew that the first night, when Clark was flying him to Metropolis. He _understood_ that Father had messed up, but he hadn’t quite connected it to him. And hadn’t really cared about his brother’s pain…

But he understood now. He got it.

Besides, Father had never once shown any interesting in Damian coming home. The last time he’d seen Father, he’d asked, “Why can’t I live with you?” and what had Father said?

Absolutely nothing.

He’d looked away and ignored the question.

Father had _never_ fought for him.

Why was he starting now?

“Damian, I love you,” Father said, soft and gently, as he reached a hand out to… do something. Damian wasn’t sure. Stroke his hair? His cheek? Whatever it was, he didn’t allow it to happen, because he backed up, pressing his back against the door behind him.

Father withdrew the hand like he’d been stung, but he didn’t immediately revert to anger, like Damian had been expecting. Instead, he just looked at Damian quizzically and asked, “Damian? What is it?”

And all he could do was shake his head. Because he didn’t know. He wasn’t afraid of Father. All it would take was calling out Clark’s name, and he’d be there in an instant.

No. He had nothing to fear from his Father.

But that phrase just sounded so wrong coming from his father’s mouth. So alien. More alien than Damian’s best friend. And it set off alarms in Damian’s head.

Because had Father ever said that before?

Yeah, he decided. Exactly once.

What was even happening? What was Father trying to pull, here? Why would he… Was he trying to _manipulate_ Damian?

That’s what-That’s what abusers did.

 _Manipulate_ those around them.

And Father was-

“Damian?” Father asked, reaching forward to touch Damian’s knee and shake it, slightly.

Damian knew his face had likely drained of its color. What color it had, that is, with him being as sleep deprived as he was. He’d had a good look at himself in a mirror earlier. He looked like absolute shit.

“Father,” he started, then paused to clear his throat before continuing, “it was never about me. It’s always been about you.”

Bruce gave Damian the most confused expression he’d ever seen on his father’s face, and said, “I don’t follow.”

And before Damian could think better of it, his mouth was saying, “Do you love Tim?”

It was a valid question after all.

“What?” Father asked, and Damian could see a touch of annoyance in his face now. Tim was likely a touchy subject for him.

Damian didn’t care.

“It’s just, you say you love me. But I’m pretty sure you said that to Tim, too.” He’d adopted Tim, after all. Damian hadn’t been a choice, so it only stood to reason that Father _must_ love Tim.

Father just turned his head slightly, like he wanted to look away, but couldn’t, so Damian added, “You’re supposed to. Tim, and Jason, and Dick. We’re your kids.”

And he hadn’t. Father hadn’t. He’d said these things, he’d made them all feel safe and loved and protected, then turned around and betrayed each one of them.

How could, how could he _do_ that? How could Damian deal with it? Why would he _want_ to?

The answer to that was, he absolutely wouldn’t.

In fact, the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was going inside and curl up in his bed and sleep. Because he could feel the burning in his face, feel the stinging the preluded the one thing he didn’t want to do in front of his father, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Damian?” Father said hesitantly, reaching a hand out again.

But Damian shook his head, forcing him to drop it, as he said, “And—just—how can I trust you, Father? You, you don’t even seem to care, about what you did. About any of it.”

“What are you talking about?” The exasperation in Father’s voice was just enough to help Damian clutch onto a kernel of anger.

“ _Tim,”_ Damian growled, “I’m talking about Tim.”

“Tim and my argument has _nothing_ to do with you,” Father said, softening his posture and his face as he did. His voice sounded like he was trying to be reassuring, too.

But he wasn’t.

He was the exact opposite of reassuring.

In fact, it was affirming Damian’s thoughts and that just plunged him deeper down the drain. There was no returning now.

“It- it wasn’t an _argument,”_ he cried, trying and failing to hold onto his anger and only his anger, _“_ It was- it was abuse. It was _wrong._

And Father reacted in the same way he always did when confronted. With agitation, bordering on anger of his own. “Damian.”

“I thought, when I left… when I told Mother I chose you, I thought I’d left that part of my life behind me,” Damian said, turning around in his seat so he was facing forward again. So he wasn’t looking directly at the man he _knew_ he was either severely pissing off or hurting possibly irrevocably. He didn’t care. That’s what he’d done to _Tim._ And Jason.

“I thought, I’d never have to worry about angering a parent again. Angering my family. Because… because I make you angry _a lot._ I’m really good at it. Sometimes I do it on purpose, but most the time not. And… before. I didn’t have to worry about it. You’d yell, you’d ground me. Sometimes I’d laugh, and you’d storm off and pout.”

“Damian,” Father said, this time quieter. Void of the anger he’d been expecting.

“But… apparently I should have been worried. I… can’t…”

_“Damian.”_

Damian looked over, and wiped the tears away so he could see. And his father was staring at him with absolute desperation in his eyes. Like he were able to hear Damian’s thoughts. See right inside Damian’s head and see the connections Damian was making. The realizations.

The decision that he’d rather stay with the Kents. Stay where being a brat didn’t result in anything happening, but maybe Lois or Clark telling him to ‘watch the tone.’ Where he could do whatever he wanted, and was encouraged.

Where he didn’t have to wonder, ‘is this what’s going to set him off?’

He’d spent the first ten years of his life with that fear. He couldn’t do it again.

“You’re— you’re _Dad._ If you, if you did that. To me. I don’t think I’d ever recover from it. I can’t-” _do this,_ he tried to finish, but his words were choked off by a sob. And this was the absolute last place he wanted to cry. He’d already cried _yesterday._ Why did he have to do it again, today?

“Son, If I can-” Father started, but Damian unlocked his door and pushed it open, unwilling to stay and listen.

He couldn’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes as he slid out and shut the door behind him. If Father tried to follow him, he hadn’t noticed, because as soon as he entered his code into the door, he ran as fast as he could, taking the stairs up to the apartment.

Clark had obviously been listening in, or was at least tuned into Damian, because he had the door unlocked and open as soon as Damian entered the hall outside.

“Damian,” Clark started, but stopped when Damian shouted at him.

“Leave me alone,” he screamed, mad at himself for still crying. Jon and Lois both looked at him, startled, but he could tell Jon had probably been listening, too. Damian _hated_ their powers. “You had no right to listen.”

He ran into his and Jon’s room and slammed the door behind him, then just collapsed onto his bed to hopefully get all of this out. Maybe he’d just fall asleep.

But of course, he didn’t. Because life wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair. Why did Father have to be like this? He was a superhero, for crying out loud. He was supposed to be _better._

Damian had looked up to him his entire life, because he was a superhero. And superheroes didn’t stoop to the levels of the criminals they were sworn to fight. They didn’t have questionable morals and use lame excuses.

Superheroes weren’t abusers.

That’s what villains were.

“Damian,” Lois said, as she knocked gently on the door Damian had no idea how long after he’d come to hide, “Damian, sweetheart, can I come in?”

“Go away,” he said, burying his face into his pillow as Lois opened the door, anyway.

“Honey,” she said, so sweetly, so kindly, that it made Damian look up. And when he saw his own hurt reflected back at him, he burst out in tears again. And before he knew it, she was sitting next to him, scooping him up into a hug, even though he was almost as tall as her.

How she managed to make him feel both so tiny and so loved and protected in the one move, he’d never know. What he did know, though, was that it made him cry even harder.

They sat there, like that, for what felt like an eternity. Whenever Damian thought he was getting ahold of himself, he got himself worked up again about something else. About how much Lois cared. Clark, too. And he remembered how in his four years since leaving his Mother, not once had he ever felt this loved and cared for.

Except for the short time he was with Dick.

Which just set him off harder.

Because Dick was gone.

But he did eventually calm completely down. Except for the weird hiccupy sniffles he had going on.

He was absolutely, completely, emotionally drained. It had been nearly 36 hours since he last slept, and that on top of the two very exhausting days, he could barely keep his head up. If it weren’t for Lois holding him up and brushing a hand through his hair, he’s sure he would have burrowed under a blanket already and passed right out.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Lois eventually whispered, her voice a soothing rasp coming from right above his head.

“Nothing,” he replied, which was an obvious lie. Clearly. He’d been living with the Kents for a while now, and this was only the second time he’d cried. There was no way she was going to take ‘nothing’ for an answer.

Damian couldn’t come up with anything else to say, though. Because nothing _had_ happened. It was a delayed reaction. A response to stresses he’d been dealing with since the start of this entire fiasco.

He’d once heard, ‘if someone goes from 0 to 100 over spilled milk, you should ask how long they’ve really been at 99’ and he never understood it before.

Now he did.

Because he’d been building this up for months. Bottling it all away, ignoring everything and everyone just to avoid it. To the point that all it had taken was a little push from Father. A tiny little comment, that Damian might have once rolled his eyes at and argued back against.

“Do I need to go all Mama Bear on Bruce?” Lois asked, with a hint of a smile on her face.

It made Damian smile, too. A little. “No,” he said, pausing to sniffle, “He didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing?” she asked, clearly not believing Damian. Maybe Clark had told her everything Father said. Maybe he hadn’t, and she was just speculating. Regardless.

“No, he’s just- He’s acting like it’s my fault I’m here,” Damian sighed, curling in on himself a little more, but not pulling away from Lois’s hold. Why couldn’t his own mother have been like this? It was nice.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s acting like…” he said, pausing to gather his thoughts. But they were all a jumbled mess, still trying to sort themselves back out after that massive break. “Like I’m being—I’m—He isn’t even _sorry_ for what he did.”

How could he be blaming Damian for choosing to live away from him when he wasn’t even _sorry?_

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, squeezing him a little in a hug, before relaxing again.

“He hit Tim,” he whispered, looking down at his arms. Staring at his watch, that his father had given him three years before. As an inheritance gift, upon his supposed death. Before, seeing the too-big watch always reminded him that his father had remembered him. Had cared enough about him to leave him something as cherished as _his_ father’s watch.

And when he’d come back from time, he hadn’t asked for it back.

Looking at it always made him feel better, even if he always wished he could have the man instead of the watch. Now it just made him wish he had the man he’d imagined he was, back when he was ‘dead.’ Instead of what he got.

“Yeah,” Lois agreed, “He did.”

“And Jason,” Damian added, “And Dick. And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think it’s wrong.”

“He knows it’s wrong, sweetie,” Lois assured, resuming her petting of Damian’s hair.

“No, he said-” Damian started, but Lois cut him off.

“You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t _know_ it was wrong. He would have fought Clark harder. But he didn’t fight, did he?”

Damian shook his head, and managed to whisper out, “No.”

“Because he knew he was having trouble controlling himself. He _knew_ you would be better off here, for now.”

“So why is he blaming Tim?”

“He’s hurt, darling. At least, that’s what I assume. I don’t know him as well as you do. Or as well as Clark. He’s not a bad man, not inherently. He’s just…” she sighed, then shook her head, “I don’t know. Making excuses for himself, I think.”

“Excuses won’t fix anything.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“But hey,” Lois said, a minute later when Damian didn’t respond. She sat up, and took Damian’s face into her hands so they were looking right at each other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay?”

Damian frowned, so she pat his cheek and smiled a little, “We will. Clark and I will help your father however he lets us. We’re not trying to keep you away from him, we’re just giving you a safe place to live while he deals with whatever is going on.”

“Yeah.”

“Because we love you, darling. We really do.”

“I,” Damian started, but his throat closed up on him as his eyes pricked. He had no tears left to give though, so he pulled his face away and rubbed at his eyes. “Thank you,” he eventually managed to get out.

Lois seemed to hear his unspoken words, anyway, because she smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you get some sleep, all right? You’ve had a long couple days. I’ll make sure Jon is extra quiet when he goes to bed.”

“Okay,” he said, as he let her pull the covers up and over his body.

She tucked them in right under his chin and gave him another kiss on the cheek before saying, “Good night, D."

And Damian took a deep breath. One that seemed to fully fill his lungs for, perhaps, the first time in months.

He had cautious hope that his father would, somehow, fix whatever was going on. Lois said they’d work on it, after all. And he trusted Lois.

But if that didn’t happen. If it took too long. More than four years, Damian wasn’t going to despair. He loved living with the Kents, and he knew he could be happy right there. And that thought alone was enough to help him drift off into a quiet sleep.


	8. Tim's Life pt 1

Tim didn’t like the think about _that_ night. 

It was painful enough just having happened. 

When he landed on the roof, his jaw aching and his lip bleeding, he had looked up and looked around and realized something. 

He was absolutely alone. 

In his own family. He was alone. 

But, no. It was worse than alone. 

Alone was back when he was living with Jack and Janet. Alone was puttering around a mansion, shifting between boarding schools and nannies and a housekeeper who checked in on him during the day and left him to his own devices at night. 

Yeah, being alone _sucked,_ but Tim knew how to be alone. He thrived there. He’d been alone his _entire life._

This was worse than alone. This was…. unappreciated. This was mistreated. This was disliked. This was _despised._

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

If Bruce didn’t appreciate his love and devotion, then fine. Tim was done offering it. He put himself out there again and again, sacrificed himself for his family over and over, gave everything he had just to be pushed aside _every single time._

Every. Single. Time.

Tim was tired of always being the one pushed aside. Everyone was more important than him in this family. Damian was younger and cuter. Jason was bigger and stronger. Dick was older and wiser. Tim was… he was just there. He was a placeholder. Someone to sacrifice when needed. 

Toss aside. 

Ignore.

And now. Now, he was a punching bag, apparently. 

Because when he looked around, no one said anything. He saw a couple shocked faces, sure, but no one said a _damn thing._

It was just another night. Bruce was hurting. Bruce was broken. Everyone needed to move on and not press his buttons anymore. 

Bruce didn’t even look _sorry._

That’s probably what set Tim off. Internally, of course, because externally all he did was wipe the blood off his face and stand, a little shakily. 

All this time. All these years. _Everything._ Tim had given Bruce _everything._ Even his name. He’d changed his name to _Tim Wayne_ and given his all to help Bruce in his mission to save Gotham.

But did any of it matter?

No.

Because Tim didn’t matter. All that mattered was Bruce and his hurts.

And Tim didn’t need this shit. 

He didn’t have to take it, either. He _wasn’t_ that little boy, all alone in a mansion, craving the attention of _anyone_ who gave him the time of day. 

Tim was an adult now. Well… in the eyes of the law at least. Emancipated was an adult, even if he was still only 16. 

But he was an adult, and he had _friends._

Friends he knew loved him and cared about him. He didn’t need Bruce or anyone else in this stupid ‘family.’ He’d be just fine without them. 

When no one said anything for a solid minute after he stood, Tim decided he was done. He rolled his shoulders, took out his grapple, and made his way back to his apartment with a quickly swelling eye. 

The entire right side of his face felt both numb and on fire. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, but knowing _Bruce_ had done it. On purpose. Out of anger. Just made it….

Tim didn’t want to think about it.

He was so tired of it all. So tired of giving so much of himself to just be hurt over and over. 

But he didn’t have to keep going this way. And when he arrived back at his apartment and changed out of uniform, he debated whether he’d ever work with the family again. Work under Batman. 

And looking at his puffy face in the mirror, he asked why he’d ever started in the first place.

Because was it honestly worth it?

\- - - 

The first thing Tim did was change his name.

He’d always kind of hated himself, anyway, for changing it to Tim Wayne, back when Bruce adopted him. It had been the reason for one of his breakdowns, after all. Tim _Wayne._

No one had cared about that break of his, either, now had they?

Honestly, he just felt like an idiot for being strung along so long. But who was he kidding? _No one_ had _ever_ asked for Tim to be around. He just planted himself in the family. Pushed his way in and insisted he be included in everything. 

Like a fungus. 

It was no wonder he got back nothing but hurt. 

But that didn’t matter. He had his friends. They made him happy. _They_ loved him and wanted him around. Why would he need anyone else?

His lawyer had looked more than mildly alarmed, though, when Tim met with him the following Monday.

The swelling in his face had disappeared by then, but the bruise had fully blossomed and looked rather painful. Deep purple right at the jawline, right where Bruce’s knuckle had hit, softening out to lighter purple and greens, the further away from the center one looked. 

It was clearly a fist print, too. 

And it took up a good fourth of his face. 

“Mr. Drake,” his lawyer, Esteban, had said, “if- if Mr. Wayne…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said. He had purposely not covered the bruise in anticipation of the meeting. He _knew_ what image it would broadcast. And he didn’t care. It would help his case, make his lawyer more sympathetic, mean there was no argument over the decision. Removing ‘Wayne’ from their name in Gotham, after all, was not something anyone had ever done. 

Wayne was a powerful name. Even more powerful when Bruce Wayne himself had given it. 

But Tim was done with Bruce Wayne. He was ready to just be Tim Drake. 

Tim Drake. Robin. A member of Young Justice.

Maybe he should think about his superhero name, now. Disconnect himself completely from Batman. 

He had certainly already disconnected himself from all of Bruce’s assets. It was probably only a matter of time before Bruce himself cut Tim off, so he’d just taken the initiative. 

It’s not like he couldn’t support himself on his own. Yeah, Drake Industries had gone bankrupt when Jack was still alive, but Tim had been working on it. And, ever since he became the primary shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, he’d been squirreling away as much as he could without arousing suspicion. 

He had more than enough to live for the next twenty years _without_ changing his spending habits. If he put himself on a budget, though? He could live indefinitely. There was no need to be attached to Bruce’s accounts.

Besides, he took some pleasure in cutting every one of Bruce’s credit cards in half and placing them all in an envelope to mail to Bruce. Just so he could be sure, himself, that Tim was done with him.

“We can press charges,” Esteban said, after taking a breath and putting his best ‘lawyer face’ on, “if _that_ is why, we should press charges. He still has another kid at home.”

“You’ve signed a NDA,” Tim reminded him, “just get my name changed.”

“Which doesn’t apply to child abuse,” Esteban said, “Which you knew.”

Tim did know that. He also didn’t care if his lawyer reported it. Damian didn’t need to be living with Bruce, anyway. And Bruce deserved whatever scrutiny such a report would bring down on him. Tim _almost_ didn’t even care if it exposed Batman.

That ‘almost’ was the only thing keeping him from reporting it himself, to get Damian out of there.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a child. And Bruce didn’t do this. So relax.”

Damian could take care of himself, Tim was sure. He lived with the Teen Titans half the time, anyway. Plus the Kents adored him. They’d watch out for him.

Besides, it’s not like Bruce didn’t want Damian around, right? He _loved_ Damian. So Damian had nothing to worry about.

Except…

He hadn’t really chosen Damian. The boy had kind of just… appeared. And stuck himself to Bruce. Demanded to be made heir and everything else. 

So there was a chance he would end up in the same boat…

Maybe he should report it…

But if Tim told Kon, he was fairly certain Kon would tell Clark, who would deal with Bruce himself. Clark was Bruce’s best friend, but he _knew_ Clark would protect Damian from Bruce if he felt it necessary. There was no way he’d stand for Bruce hitting any of his allies. Especially not one he claimed as a ‘son,’ no matter how superficial the paperwork was.

Yeah. That was the perfect plan. 

That’s what he’d do. 

“Then who did it, Tim?”Esteban asked, gently, as if he were going to get Tim to open up and talk by simply being kind. 

Smiling his ‘Tim Wayne’ smile, Tim just said, “Timothy Jackson Drake is what I want my legal name to be.” 

As soon as he was done cutting himself off completely, he’d call Kon and talk to him. Then he’d start his new life, working with Young Justice and maybe finding a profession. 

The more he thought about it, the more excited he got about his life on his own.

It would be nice to live for himself for once.

\- - - 

Weeks passed. 

No one seemed to understand why Tim left.

Even though he told himself no one wanted him around in the first place, he’d still been expecting… something. Someone to react to him leaving. To miss him for _him._ Not for what he was ‘doing to Bruce.’ 

But Bruce acted like nothing happened. When the media went crazy over the revelation that Tim severed ties, sold his shares back to Bruce, and changed his name, Bruce refused to comment. And still hadn’t said anything about it.

That didn’t stop the various members of the batfamily from trying to convince him to stop ‘hurting the family’ and ‘making everything worse’ by ‘blowing everything out of proportion.’ 

Honestly, Tim was tired of them all. 

‘That’s just how Bruce is,’ Babs had said.

‘He was upset,’ Helena explained. 

‘Dude lost everything,’ Duke reasoned. 

‘Master Tim, you must understand-’ Alfred had started, but Tim hung up on him.

Tim didn’t bother to ask Damian his opinion. 

No one understood, and Tim was done trying to explain it to them.

If he could go the rest of his life without thinking about it or Bruce again, he’d live a happy life. 

He didn’t need any of them, anyway.

Jason, though?

Well. Tim had not been planning on Jason. He was _fine_ alone. Because, again, he had his friends. 

But someone _told_ Jason.

Tim wasn’t sure who, but someone did. It was obvious, by the mere fact that Jason Todd was in his apartment, in the dark, waiting for Tim to get home.

It had been almost a month. 

And while he and Jason might not have had a _bad_ relationship, they hadn’t been much more than friendly acquaintances. Ever. At best.

Hostile enemies at worst.

“Welcome to the club, kid,” Jason said, not even looking up when Tim cut the light on to reveal Jason sitting sideways in the armchair, one leg slung up over the side, as he read something on his kindle. One of the ones that lit up.

Tim didn’t really like kindles. He wasn’t a huge fan of reading, in general, but he definitely didn’t like kindles. Tim would have never guessed that Jason, being a book nerd, used a kindle. He kind of seemed like the kind of dork who would prefer to smell the books, or something, while reading.

“Go away,” Tim said flatly, as he dropped his bag down on the ground and went to fix himself something to eat. He’d been away on a mission with his team for the last week. All he wanted to do was eat a bowl of something. Soup, probably. Lie on the couch and eat it while he watched something light and funny, then fall asleep. Possibly right there on the couch. 

Talking to Jason was not any of those things. 

“Heard you cut ties to Bat completely,” Jason said, “Gotta say. I’m impressed.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he looked through the various cans of soup he had in the cupboard, before he picked a hardy chicken and rice thing. “Don’t care. Go away.”

“Bat’s pissed, of course,” Jason said, as if Tim hadn’t said anything, “it’s kind of great.”

He watched his bowl spin in the microwave, while trying to blow Jason up with sheer willpower. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he’d discover latent super power abilities and make Jason disappear. 

It could happen. 

“But what I don’t get is: What did you _do_?”

“What did I do?” Tim echoed, spinning to stare at Jason, “What the fuck do you mean, what did _I_ do?”

“To piss him off.” 

“Does it matter?” 

It’s not like it took much to piss Bruce off enough to be on the receiving end of a blow. The more Tim thought about it, the more surprised he was it’d taken as long as it did. Bruce had hit both Jason and Dick many times while angry. And Bruce actually _chose_ both of them. Right from the beginning. 

“Well, sure. You always seemed like a goody-goody to me. Daddy’s perfect little solider. What could _you_ possibly do to-”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Tim shouted, “Just like _you_ didn’t do anything, and Dick didn’t _do_ anything to deserve it. No one-”

“Let’s be fair here, Timbo. I tried to kill a dude.” 

“So?” Tim asked, shaking his head, “Why does that make it okay for Bruce, your literal Dad, to attack you?”

Jason opened his mouth, but then just blinked at Tim. 

He’d never really- They didn’t use that word. Tim wasn’t sure why he used that word. 

But, that’s what he was, wasn’t it? Even if he only adopted them out of convenience. Or obligation. That’s what he _was._

Bruce was the one who was _there_ for parental guidance, right? He’d signed Tim’s report cards and everything. Gone to his school performances. Attended parent-teacher conferences. Taken him out for pizza and ice cream and to the movies. 

There had been good times. Several years of good times. Tim had felt… wanted. And loved. For years. Bruce even _said_ he loved him. Loved them all. 

And yet, here they were. 

Dealing with the repercussions of living in a lie.

“He- He-” Tim said, absolutely flabbergasted by Jason’s apparent… acceptance? Of all this? Out of all the people in the world, Tim thought _Jason_ would understand. 

Abuse was abuse. It was _wrong._ Regardless of what the victim _did._ Or who they _were._

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” he said, as his hand started to shake. He stepped forward and gripped onto one of the bar stools at his island, and kept going, “And that’s what no one seems to get.”

And Bruce had… Bruce had _abused_ him. 

That’s what this was. It wasn’t just an attack. It wasn’t just….and… he’d done it to Jason before him. And Dick before that. 

It didn’t matter how he came into Bruce’s life. What he’d ever done. Bruce had adopted him. Bruce had adopted them all. 

“Parents are supposed to- Dads are supposed to- supposed to _love_ their kids,” Tim said, his voice quieting with each word, as his focus slipped from Jason, to off in the distance. 

Bruce was their dad. And he was abusive. 

“Tim.” 

“I was just telling him I cared,” Tim snapped, angry Jason was making him feel things when all he wanted was some soup and an episode of _The Simpsons_. Or, maybe something like _Futurama_ would be better. “And he just- he just…”

“Tim.”

Bruce had attacked him. 

For trying to say he cared about him. 

All Tim had done was love his dad, and that was how Bruce reciprocated. 

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Tim whispered, letting go of the bar stool to wipe at his eyes.

Jason slowly got up and came to the counter, then sat down on the other side of the island. He placed his hands on the counter, then splayed out his fingers while he stared at them.

Tim never had a good example of a parent. His parents had loved him, he was sure, but they weren’t very good parents. He realized that, now. They cared more about their careers than they did about Tim. So when Bruce came around and actually talked to him. Spent time with him. _Smiled_ at him, as if just his presence was enough to make Bruce happy, Tim had been absolutely overjoyed. Enamored with his new dad.

But Bruce had never been a good parent, either. Had he? 

Nothing like Jack and Janet, but still unfit in his own ways. 

Abusive in his own ways.

Eventually, long after the microwave had beeped, and Tim had ignored it in favor of staring at Jason’s hands, too, while he tried to keep his vision from blurring any further, Jason said, “Sorry, kid.” 

“It was wrong,” Tim said numbly, and Jason just nodded, “it was wrong when he did it to you, too.”

At that, Jason scrubbed at his own eye, just briefly, before he seemed to realize he was doing it and put his hand back down on the counter. “It’s whatever,” he said, so nonchalantly that Tim realized Jason was a much better actor than he’d ever realized. 

“He’s our dad,” Tim whispered.

“Yeah.”

Tim didn't know much about good parents, but he did know one thing. “That’s not how Dads are supposed to be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~~~ 😄
> 
> Basically if I go off on a rant for like 7 hours like I did today about how horrible canon Bruce is, you should expect another chapter of this story. :D 
> 
> The actual scene that came to me I didn't get to in this section. I need to build up to it! So I repurposed some of my original draft from Tim's POV in this AU, and added a lot more. (so if a bit of it seems familiar, you probably read my WIP on Tumblr) I have no idea how many parts Tim's Life will have, but we'll find out. Originally, this was supposed to end in Bruce getting redemption, but I'm really not sure if that'll happen. We'll see where the story takes us. I really don't think that canon Bruce deserves his kids, though. :(

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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